God is a Big Fool
by Ryuuen Chou
Summary: Omi reflects upon his 100th kill. (warnings for reference to suicide, cutting, and dark themes)


God is a Big Fool  
By Ryuuen  
  
Warnings: Dark themes, death theme, references to suicide, possible OOC.  
  
The Premise: Omi celebrates an anniversary.  
  
A/N: This is kind of dark.. don't say I didn't warn you. You'll learn why I titled it such, and why I put up all those warnings, believe me. ^_^;;;  
::GOD IS A BIG FOOL::  
I don't know why I keep doing this. It's not important, or at least it doesn't seem important to the others. Or maybe they just perform their rituals privately, like I do. I've never really made a point of checking. It never interested me.  
  
There was a subtle, sharp pain in my arm, but I ignored it. I was used to it. I watched blood seep out of the rough cut. Steak knives leave scars. I wanted this to be a scar. It would show me exactly how many lives I had ruined. Well, actually, it probably wouldn't come close to that. But it would show how many I had ended. This scar.. it would be a bloody tattoo.. a painful tribute to those I had sent across the river Styx. It wasn't like I hadn't done it before.  
  
I would have to wear long sleeves for a while, but after the cut healed I wouldn't need to. After the cut healed, I would be able to wear tee shirts again. The cut was high on my shoulder, so once the seam at the edge of the tee shirt's sleeve wouldn't bother it or reopen it, I would be able to wear the shirts again. It wasn't like I hadn't done this before. Only, before I used a razor, or a candle's flame, something that wouldn't scar. No one asked questions that way.  
  
This is special, though. Last night, I had made my one hundreth kill. I don't think the others know that I count them. In fact, I keep a very precise count, in my notebook. I even write down who they were. If I'm feeling particularly guilty about it, I write down if they had a wife, husband, or kids. What their job was. By the time I'm finished, I feel like I really knew them.  
  
My one hundreth kill had been the head of a corrupt agency. He had had two kids and a wife at home. I sent them flowers- annonymously, of course. Mostly freesias. They were my trademark. Sometimes I sent them to the wives, husbands, or children of my victims. Sometimes I didn't. I knew enough not to be too constant. I could be tracked more easily if I was.  
  
I wonder if I'll go to Hell for this. Even though I do pay them back. I cut myself, making myself feel the pain they must have felt in their last moments, trying to somehow give back to them what I took. Through my blood, I avenge them to myself. I set their souls free with my red blood.  
  
My teacher for writing and literature says that my stories are great. She says the characters are in-depth, the plot constant and deep. I don't think she knows that I only write stories for those I have killed. I write what might have been their lives, had they lived. Some had happy endings. Some didn't. Sometimes they lived happily ever after, to a ripe old age, and died in their sleep, perfectly content. Sometimes they died horrible deaths.  
  
You know, I don't believe in fate anymore. I think I used to. I don't remember much. I do remember that at some point near the beginning, I used to think that they would have died anyway, if not by my hand, then by someone else's. I don't believe that anymore. I don't believe in anything anymore.  
  
If there is a God, why doesn't he care? If there is a God, why doesn't he save these people? If there is a God, then why am I still alive? I don't believe in God. I don't believe in anything. The ones who believe in higher beings like that need something to look to. I only look towards the next mission, the next kill. That, I know, will be my future, until I get killed in some mission gone wrong. Besides, if there is a God, isn't he just foolish for letting all of these bad things happen, anyway? I don't know.  
  
All I know is that last night- well, technically this morning- I made my 100th kill. This afternoon, I cut the number 100 into my left shoulder with a steak knife. I'll wear that scar for the rest of my life. Maybe I'll make a similar one at 500. If I live that long.  
  
All I know... is that I've taken away 100 lives. I don't think I can forgive myself for that.  
  
How do.. how do they justify this..?  
  
How can they justify sending us to kill?  
  
How do they go from day to day, knowing that they're slowling killing us, Aya and Yohji and Ken and me?  
  
How do they live knowing.. knowing that they.. that they've killed me..?  
  
Because.. I died a long time ago. Only, no one really noticed.  
~owari~ 


End file.
